


Glimmerlines

by ashesOfeternity



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, End game spoilers (kinda), F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Slow Burn, Will add tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashesOfeternity/pseuds/ashesOfeternity
Summary: Every one thousand years the seals holding the Fallen one are renewed.It's been 1,600 years since the last renewal, the seals are failing and demons lurking.All the while a father searches for his lost son.
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass/Therion, Primrose Azelhart/H'aanit
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

His first memories are of his mother singing, a language shared just between the two of them. 

_Tomorrow all will be known_  
_And you’re not alone_  
_So don’t be afraid_

Amma’s voice always soared on that last syllable, always and it always sent shivers down his spine.

_In the dark and cold_  
_‘Cause the bards’ songs will remain_  
_They all will remain_  
_In my thoughts and in my dreams_  
_They’re always in my mind_  
_These tales of lost gods, dragons and men_  
_And magic_  
_Come close your eyes_  
_You can see them too._

And afterward, Therion clambering up her lap, fingers tangling themselves in her already messy braid. Always he asked the same questions, what stories the song was talking about. And always Amma would just laugh.   
_“Teri”_ The nickname was always musical coming from her. _“We sing the song because those tales are lost to us. We sing because we know we ought to remember. Tis like the prayers to the Lady of the Stars, we ask to remember what we’ve lost. Perhaps the Lady will help us remember once more eh?”_  
Therion hadn’t understood that then, and in the time afterward the soft music was lost to the sea and sands. And it fades completely, locked in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

This is how it ends; sky turned deep crimson and the wind roaring in his ears. Then there was only falling, only falling and pain and blood. Shattered bones and a teen who wishes he’d died already, died before he hit the ground. He swears he smells the sea, though the sea is so far from here.   
A memory, so faint that it’s just a murmur in his mind. His mother’s voice, soft and sweet in his ear. It burst from that place in his soul he’s locked it into, to keep it safe. To keep it untainted.   
And we begin again, this time another scene twilight and eerie streets. A shared grin with Him and shaking hands still full of adrenalin, still full of a certain disbelief. His face is burning, tentative fingers find skin that must be turning purple. And he follows, he follows with a certain giddy joy and a sense of accomplishment. He follows because at least then he’s not alone anymore.   
And again, a trembling body as they drag her out the door and into the nearly empty street. The unmoving woman (she had a name and he called her Amma) thrown onto the cart and taken away. The air is both sour and sweet with the scent of sickness, death and the incense used to try and cover it all up. It smells so strongly of death. He should be feeling something right? He clutches his ears, the earrings Amma had place there only yesterday taken from her own lobes. He should be feeling something besides the nausea bubbling up, he should be feeling something now that she was gone. Now that the music was gone so completely and forever. That he was alone, he curls in on himself and cries.  
And he’s crashing to the ground, body colliding with the canyon floor. As Therion slowly comes back to consciousness (everything hurts so badly he wants to scream but opening his mouth hurts too and breathing hurts and blood is dripping into his only good eye) he turns slowly, oh so slowly onto his side. Set into the cliff face there is a door, plain and unadorned. As he watches it it opens, calling.   
And we erase again, all things must end. We erase and erase until the hole in the parchment can’t be denied any longer. We erase till the skin and soul are scarred and burnt and people can no longer be the same. We erase because it hurts less than remembering, and Gods he remembers everything so well. He remembers the rope burning against his wrists and the near drownings (as to not mar the skin) and then later. After. The beatings and the sweet promises of safety whispered into his ear that only resulted in pain. Pain and the feeling of filth that never washed away, even years later. No matter how hard he scrubbed, and he scrubbed and scrubbed so often.   
The music locked so deeply inside, to keep it untainted and pure. His mother, always messy haired who smiled so often and kindly, his father who loved him and then was gone. He remembers it all, how it felt to see from two eyes and not just one. But all that’s left is the lingering scent of apples, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue and the grit of dust in his wounds.   
He wonders why everything he encountered tried to break him. He doesn’t know, he wishes he did. He’s not easily broken. Because, despite it all, pain was felt. It was passing. And the pain that wasn’t passing was locked so deep that no one could hurt him like that again. And then pain was the knife heading towards his eye, and again he was falling and again he was inching his way to that doorway, the unbearable heat laying beyond. 

Therion wakes, choking on the scream he knew better than to let loose. His nightmares were always like this, a blur he couldn’t quite remember when he opened his eyes. But the terror still came in waves, even as he shoves his boots on hastily, as he throws his shawl around his shoulders. He can feel his heart racing as he closes the door to his room behind him, his breathing is loud to his ears but he hurries down the stairs and outside into the cool air.   
He doesn’t quite come back down till he’s on the edge of the city, the sky open and clear above him. And he stars upward, casting his thoughts into the blanket of stars and the twin moons. 

_In this sunless light, these stars cause wonder. Forever, unknowable._  
_Steorra hear my plea, this future seems closed to me._  
_Pray that fate opens a door once more._

He doesn’t know where the prayer comes from, after a moment of thought he thinks it might be from his childhood. And then he’s furious, at himself and the world. He didn’t even know what it fucking meant, let alone why it came out of his lips in a whisper. What care did the Gods have for him anyway? After all they let happen in the world, why the fuck would he pray to anyone. Therion scowls, kicks the ground but still he lingers, staring upward till the stars fade away and the sky turns light in the east. Only then does he find his way back into his room. Only then. 

* * *

  
Steorra, The Seer of Stars pauses, plucking a small suggestion of light from the cosmos. She turns it over, feeling the flavor of the prayer. It wasn’t often prayers came to her. For all her divinity she feels sorrow towards this tiny thing, filled with so many holes and lapses and pain.   
Usually it was the seers, praying for guidance in what they couldn’t hope to understand (not even she understood it truthfully) or more rarely, the seekers of the lost. She wasn’t the normal sort of god one prayed to, her sphere so very specific and so largely unknown. Very few disturbed her celestial searching in any way that mattered.   
And again she turns the prayer over, an emotion she’s not felt in a long time bubbling to the surface, rage. Rage at the sorry state of this thing, rage at all that had happened.   
“Oh my child. He had to choose you didn’t he? There is something I can do for you, even if the path ahead is long and winding. A chance at a peaceful end and understanding.” She blows gently, the tiny little light growing in size, in purpose. Then with a flick of her wrist she drops it back down, glimmering softly. Knowing what it was, it’s worth. She watches as the tiny little holes fill slowly, filling with a soft clean light. She nods. It was time for her to pay more attention to the world below.  
The remembering would be painful. But remembering is what would open the door. 

* * *

  
Orius unfolds the well worn piece of parchment, as he did most every night before he went to sleep. He knew already what it said, he knew each word by heart but it was also the handwriting, the physicality of it that drew him back in. It was real. 

_Orius-_  
_I know this will not reach you in time, and I am sorry for it. I do not have much longer left in this world. Tis a growth, one that neither clerics nor apothecaries can help. I’ve even appealed to the temple of Dohter, however even they could do nothing. I see those wheels turning in that mind of yours Orius, I beg you to stop now and listen to me this last time. Do not start planning your return, do not give up on this dream of yours. I’ve written my sister, she’s on her way now to care for our son. She’s agreed to watch him till your planned return. Teri will be fine, he will be loved and cared for._  
_Gods Orius, it’s only been two years but how Teri’s grown! Now I’m starting to understand how your mother must have felt when you were that age, I would say mine as well however by then she was already gone. That fucking boy though, I say this with all the love in my heart. How many times a day must I pull him from scrapes because he only thought the to aspect, and not the from? Far too many let me tell you._  
_His latest game is pretending he’s a cat, he’s dubbed himself Moha and of course tis pesky Moha who’s gotten into the sweets, not dear little Teri. He’s damned sneaky too, I don’t even know they’re gone until I check the cupboard. Frankly I’d not have it any other way._  
_I do admit, tis not the best thing to teach a child however I’ve brought out my old lockpicks and have been teaching him how to use them. He just has such cleaver little hands and nimble fingers, and he gets so excited when the lock pops open! How could I not teach him? And it isn’t like he must be a thief, one can make an honest living picking open locks if they so choose. He really is quite good, especially for his age. Perhaps when he’s older see about an apprenticeship to a locksmith? If it comes to that anyway._  
_I wish he’d sit still long enough for me to teach him to sing, he only ever wants to listen. And he constantly asks, Amma won’t you sing that song for me? The one about the bards. Apparently tis his favorite, I cannot complain. Tis a joy to sing, and the melody simple to pluck out. Tis difficult, trying to cram everything I want to teach him into so little time. Trying to figure out what stories he’ll want to hear later on, what he’d want to know. I hate thinking of this but I must._  
_I’m scared Orius, truth be told. Each day is worse than the last. I would have told you sooner but it felt selfish, for you to finally be able to leave this country with the show only to cut it all short for me. I didn’t realize it would come to this, otherwise I swear by all the Gods I would have sent for you. Poor Teri knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t know how to help and it breaks my heart. I’m going to tell him tomorrow about his aunt, and this entire predicament. I’m unsure how he’ll take it, I’m unsure how I would if I were in his position._  
_At least tis her that is coming. She of all people can keep our little boy occupied and busy enough where he won’t (hopefully) have the chance to to get into trouble. He’s just such a bright little thing, so full of plans and ideas and wonder. He wants to know everything, and there are few answers I can give him._  
_If Therion ever asks, tell him that I am so very proud of him. That I love him more than all the stars in the sky, than all the droplets of water the ocean holds. As I love you, each moment since we’ve met has been a blessing beyond measure. Thank you Orius, for all these years. For agreeing to spend them with me, a former thief turned bard. For everything. I thank Steorra each moonrise that we met my love._  
_Forever yours-_  
_Milja_

And he can’t count how many times he’s reread the letter, in the times since. How many times he dreamed that perhaps it was a nightmare, the note that came afterward. Or well. Both had gotten lost along the way and arrived at the same time, two years after the fact.   
Carefully, he folds the parchment again, sliding it into its own small flat pouch. Looking down at it, he stares as if it’d provide the answers he didn’t have. A tear escapes, and then another. He weeps.   
Tomorrow the fruitless search would continue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there is a reason okay, dunno when the first chapter is going to be finished but it should be done within a month.  
> The song is a slightly modified version of the Bard's song by Blind Guardian


	2. Chapter 1

Bolderfall was a city built both into and onto a cliff. Or more accurately, it was an ugly sprawling thing built into layers, the further you went down, the more likely it was that the structures were actually just carved from the very painted stone they sat on. Just another reminder that it’d been a mining town before it’d been a city.   
  
The gold had eventually dried up, though, as did the ore. Still, the city clung on in its age. Precariously, on a cliff.   
  
Still, somehow Bolderfall had grown. Maybe it was the stable source of water below or the fact that it was easily defended. Really though, it was just the closest thing to the pass down to the Riverlands, making it a hub for traders and travelers alike out of pure necessity.   
  
Therion really couldn’t understand why someone would willingly come to the Clifflands if there weren’t money in it. Sure the rock was pretty, but the land was desolate, the tiny bits of life clinging to the corners and monsters and demons lurking beyond the magical barriers. The weather alternated between the extremes, either bitterly cold or blistering hot. Sometimes both in the same week, and one memorable spring the same day. It was always dry, though. Always. Frankly? He hated it here. He hated how the rich lived at the top of the cliff, how they were afforded lush gardens protected by tall walls. He hated the stupid merchants who were under the impression that they could take advantage of whoever the fuck they wanted, and the fact that most of the time they got away with it.   
No one gave a shit about the people on the lower levels, the closer to the bottom of the canyon you ended up the more worthless you were to the people at the top. He hated the weather, he hated the sun he hated… He hated everything. He just fucking hated everything.   
Therion hated the fact that his feet kept returning him here most of all. No matter how far he tried to run, he always found himself looking back at the red stone. He still ended up back in the familiar warren of tunnels in the slums, the tiny house (if you could call it that even) he’d called his own because why the fuck not? He could afford it. The don’t-look-at-me spell hadn’t been cheap either, but it was something you shelled out for if you knew what you were doing. Of course, there were charms you could get to bypass it, but they were expensive and hard to get your hands on. 

There was just something comforting in being able to lock a door behind you and being reasonably certain it’d stay both locked and shut. 

Therion checks the straps of his packs, running fingers along, checking for weakness in the leather. Part of him wishes he could justify a donkey, it’d cost too much and probably slow him down if he had to leave the highroad though, so he hadn’t even bothered looking. It was a tether he wasn’t willing to put up with. Even if it meant carrying all his shit on his own down the pass. The bangle on his wrist jingles, he looks down at it and scowls.   
How long had he spent here? Years, and it couldn’t even be called a home. Therion knew it wasn’t that, even if the word didn’t mean too much. He was out of excuses; without another look, Therion leaves Bolderfall and the memories it held behind. For now at least, maybe this time he’d be able to kick it for good. 

* * *

  
  
_Alfyn knows he’s sleeping, he knows this is just a dream. It feels real, though, like the solid wooden door standing before him. He wants to reach out, to touch the handle, but something is stopping him._  
_“Did you want to Heal her?” A voice asks, distorted. For some reason, it has Alfyn in mind of birdsong._  
_And there, before him was his mother. Body frail the bones sharp angles and skin translucent. He could trace the veins running through her._  
_“Did you want to Heal him?” Zeph’s dad, wasting away from the same disease that nearly killed Alfyn himself._  
_“Did you want to Heal them?” The countless who died from the demonrot, bodies turning black and crumbling apart. Strangers and friends alike, reduced to ash._  
_Alfyn nods, bile climbing his throat. He can barely whisper an answer._  
_“Yes.” He knew what had been standing between him and them, it was a lack of skill on his end. A lack of resources. A lack of knowledge. A lack of everything. He knew it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t. But it never stopped the what-ifs. It never stopped the determination that no. Never again. Never again if he could ever help it._  
_“What is the price of human life?” The voice asks again._  
_Alfyn knows this answer. He knows it in the leaves his mother had plucked out, in an attempt to pay the man who’d saved him so long ago. How that man, kind-eyed and gentle, had just shaken his head, refusing the payment with a laugh._  
_“You can’t put a price on it. It’s priceless.” Alfyn replies._  
_A pause._  
_“Why do you Heal?” The voice asks yet again._  
_“Because I can. Because everyone is worth something.” The words were barely out of his mouth before the door clicks open before him—an invitation._  
_Alfyn takes one step, then another. He pulls open the door further, and all he knew next was light: light and that voice saying one last thing._  
_“Then Heal.”_

* * *

  
The wind is bone dry, and it wails through the crags. The bad thing about traveling was that it left too much time for reflection, and reflecting now, Therion remembers why he avoided it at all cost. Therion couldn’t exactly say why he hadn’t packed up and left Bolderfall behind years ago. Go where the money was better, or the weather for that matter. Maybe Atlasdam, or even Saintsbridge. Never Sunshade, even if it did have a good reputation among thieves. The underbelly of Sunshade was unpleasant at best, and Therion wanted nothing to do with it.   
If he’d left years ago, he probably wouldn’t be in this mess, stuck fetching family heirlooms for a noble house that knew way too much about how a half-decent thief operated.   
“Like a dog. Oh, go fetch this go fetch that! If you can find the sticks, you can get the bangle off!” He says aloud, bitter. “I’m not a fucking dog.” But still, he was leashed by the bangle, a bangle he couldn’t even begin to pick open because of the magic in the mechanism. The moment anything but the actual key attempted to get it open, the entire keyhole would weld shut. It was a nasty bit of magic, one that the rich apparently delighted in using.   
What pissed him off the most was the fact that the barkeep had fucking warned him. He’d warned him, but Therion just couldn’t resist the challenge, even if it was an obvious trap. That and Therion’s impulse control was pretty much nonexistent on a good day. He should probably work on that.   
And then yesterday, that man that had been lying against the cliffs. Kit? Therion is pretty sure that was the name. There was something about his eyes that still unsettled him, he could have sworn there were the tiniest specks of darkness swirling around in there.   
“Damned unnatural.” Therion breathes, fingers automatically twitching into a ward. Kit had been nice enough, Therion knew the type. Naive to a fault and entirely too earnest, trusting. The sort of person that made Therion sick. They’d learn eventually, and it’d be a damned hard lesson.   
But that wasn’t a lesson he was too interested in teaching, so he’d just handed over the potion and watched the man limp his way the rest of the way to Bolderfall. And again, the eyes come up and again, his fingers twisting once more into a ward. Therion can’t help it, he barks out a laugh, one that echoes through the canyon. He closes his mouth, cursing himself. Being loud was an excellent way to attract monsters, even during the day. He’d gone and screwed that up too, hadn’t he?   
If he was lucky, he’d be in the Riverlands within the week. But in order to get there in one piece, he had to not be an idiot, something he was already failing horribly. 

  
Therion gives up and makes camp after the third time some dog thing ambushed him, well to be fair, the first thing that decided he looked tasty enough was some giant bird. That had been fun fighting; if he didn’t already know his depth perception was too shit for it, he’d take up archery. Not feeling particularly up to backtracking to the wayrest he finds a cave, given that you could see the back from the narrow entrance Therion guesses it’s probably safe enough.   
That and the ashes scattering the floor painted a clear enough picture of it being used before for the same purpose multiple times. Soon a fire blocks the entrance. At least fire came easily to him; it was the containing it part that was always the real struggle. The new scorch marks on the wall are just a reminder that he’s distracted.   
It was funny really, part of him hated being on the road purely because he didn’t really get to see the stars. If the world was different, he’d just travel solely by night, moonlight was definitely enough to see by. And as much as he hated Bolderfall, there was something special in the way the sky arced over the canyon, it was just… So big? That was a word for it.   
  
_It was a game they played, Amma and Papa and him, stare very hard at the palms of your hands and see what came. For Amma, it was a small light, silvery and beautiful. Therion always tried to touch it, but his fingers slid through. The light wasn’t even warm._  
_Papa never had anything form in his hands, though when he stared extra hard, a wind always picked up, making Therion’s hair tickle against his neck. Papa hadn’t been able to play lately, though, which made Therion sad. He kept asking Amma when he was coming back, but all Amma said was that he was on a work trip, and it’d be a while. But he would come back, even if it felt like it was taking forever and forever. Papa didn’t break his promises._  
_Still, even without Papa, they played the game. This time it was different though; the more Therion stared, the more he felt something different inside, a difference he didn’t have the words to describe._  
_The fire comes with a snap, a tiny little flame in the center of his palms. Just looking at it made him happy. It was like. It was like when Amma brought home candied apples from the market and let him have some. That excitement and joy and the bounciness that worked its way into his bones._  
_It fizzles out though a second later, and he frowns._  
_“Amma, did you see it?” Therion asks, Amma laughs, her eyes crinkled and shining._  
_“I did, Teri! Could you try to do the same thing again for me?” She asks, crouching down to his level. A challenge, Therion grins._  
_He stares at his hands, willing the fire to come again. But it doesn’t, his brain is so wrapped up in thinking about everything that the weird feeling doesn’t actually come back._  
_Taking another breath, he wills harder for the fire to come back. It blossoms in his cupped hands, and he grins. Holding his palms up to his face, he can feel the heat from the flames, they were so pretty he couldn’t stop staring._  
_“I’m so proud of you!” Amma is grinning widely now. “Can you make it go away again?” She asks. That was easy, Therion just stopped thinking about it, and the small flame winks out._  
_Laughing, Amma pulls him into her arms. “Now, Teri, be sure to be very careful. The fire is very beautiful, yes?” He nods. “It also burns, it destroys, like the Masraet’s house last week, do you remember?”_  
_Therion remembers the flames, how they licked the sky, and how the couple just stood outside, tears streaming down both of their faces. They were always very kind to him and gave him sweets. The house was gone afterward, Therion went to go explore it, and Amma scolded him when he came home covered in ashes._  
_“Tis fire’s nature,” Amma continues, using that tone of voice that always snapped Therion out of his thoughts. “So be very careful you touch nothing with the fire, okay? Tis okay to play with, but only in your hands.”_  
_“Only my hands?” Therion repeats, lifting his hand up to his face. With a small internal nudge, the fire lights on the tip of his finger, and he wants to laugh. He didn’t know where the fire came from, but it made him giddy._  
_“Only your hands.”_

Therion wakes to the sun shining directly in his eye and a dead fire. He shoves himself up, feeling distinctly odd, shaky even- the tail end of a dream still vivid.   
“Amma.” The word comes out like a prayer; he hadn’t let himself think of her in years, her loss still painful and raw. Therion cups his palms together and, with little effort, produces a small flame. Frustrated, his fingers close into fists, which are slammed onto the ground. The bangle clanks, Therion winces, in both pain and the realization that’s only now really dawning on him.   
“Well. I’m just fucked aren’t I?” He asks the cave wall, glaring at it like it’d have some sort of answer for him. Sighing, he drags himself to his feet, shoving his shit back into his packs and kicking away some of the coals. Glancing at his wrist, he studies the growing rash beneath the fool’s bangle, it itched like hell, but in the way things itched when you really weren’t supposed to be scratching at them. Briefly, it crosses his mind that he should probably wrap it in something, but then he remembers how he hates pressure on his wrists to begin with, and the bangle was already a bit much.   
Therion could deal for now. Probably.

* * *

  
The road was familiar to her now, especially this particular stretch. H’aanit, when she’d started her rounds, had quickly found that the highroads were all much the same across Orsterra, wayrests every five miles and ruts worn deep into the stone from hundreds of years worth of wagons passing over. The southern pass into the Riverlands held a strange beauty to it, the painted stone of the Clifflands fading into green the further you followed the winding road down.   
Sunset was growing nearer, sunset was something that H’aanit didn’t particularly worry about. She was nearly to the end of the pass, and she intended to make Clearbrook before midnight.   
“Linde.” H’aanit says softly, and Linde ever-faithful butts her head beneath H’aanit’s palm. They both knew the steps from here, the routine developed over 8 years of similar sunsets. Linde falls behind, watching their surroundings intently as H’aanit draws out her quiver. The prayers came to her tongue quickly, and she didn’t even have to slow her pace. More prayers would be recited when she drew her bow, it was the prayers that let the arrows find purchase in voidflesh.   
Blessed weapons, clean fire, and a cleric’s light; those were the things that voidbeasts truly feared.  
The next steps were just as familiar, adjusting the placement of her quiver on her hip, ensuring that the arrows were within easy reach. Her ax is quickly examined for any weakness her last examination might have missed. She also brings out her bow, though she doesn’t nock an arrow or even draw it. Not yet.   
The sun falls beyond the horizon slowly, steadily. Linde occasionally lopes up, loops around H’aanit before heading back to the rear, it as her little way of letting H’aanit know that all was well for now and that she was paying attention.   
The last of the light finally fades. H’aanit feels the moment the voidbeasts rise from the shadows deep in her bones. Linde draws close, also sensing but still watching as they finally reach the end of the pass, one last stretch to go. They both know that they’re circling the both of them, waiting. Watching.   
The voidbeasts were waiting for the flicker of fear, fear that H’aanit didn’t hold. Without fear, there was nothing for them to feed on, at least not from her. This is the reason H’aanit can continue in relative peace. She and Linde reach the point where the pass deposits you back onto the highroad proper, that one last bend before you hit the forest.  
That’s when the fragile peace evaporates entirely. 

A man is standing in the middle of a ring of fire raging waste high, voidbeasts circling around. Someone had gotten unlucky, or perhaps they’d just gotten cocky. The nearest wayrest is only half a mile down the road. H’aanit couldn’t be sure which it actually was, nor did she care.   
Drawing an arrow, she nocks it, loosing it towards one of the voidbeasts with a wordless plea to Draefendi. The man in the flames was obviously wounded; still, he held his sword out. Waiting. The beast lets out a shriek as it falls, one that leaves H’aanit’s ears ringing.   
The man whips around to where H’aanit was standing in the darkness, questioning. H’aanit draws another arrow out and nods towards the man, Linde understanding the request. She bounds forward, with a great leap she’s over the flames, snarling at the voidbeasts that lurked just outside the ring. He’s too shocked to react, another voidbeast falls.   
“I suggest thou prays, either that or set more demons afire.” H’aanit lets her voice carry as she walks forward, carefully loosing arrows. She uses the common term for the beasts, as most people didn’t recognize them for what they were.   
“I had this taken care of!” He yells out, apparently catching her silhouette. But there is a hysterical edge to the voice, telling H’aanit that he really didn’t. Nor was he particularly okay. Voidbeast bites did odd things, demonrot the very least of them. Demonrot was just the most deadly. They had the tendency to bring out all the fear in a person, shoving it to the surface.   
“Have thou a particular God thou favors?” H’aanit asks mildly, the man just looks confused.  
And then he starts laughing, the flames flickering dangerously. Linde leaps away again, some sense that H’aanit didn’t possess telling her to get away.   
Still, the man laughs, falling to his knees, hysterical.   
“Pick a God and pray, huh. Just fucking pick a God and pray. Is that really the trick to dealing with demons?”   
“Typically, yes. It certainly helps.” H’aanit looses another arrow, she feels the voidbeasts gathering still. Multiplying.   
“They must be laughing at me. Fine, Aeber, I could use a little help now. Or Steorra, whoever cares.” The man barely gets the words out before the flames flare, the fire unconstrained and out of control for a brief moment. It swallows three of the nearest demons whole, turning them instantly into ash.   
But it only lasts a moment before the fire dies entirely, and H’aanit sees why the moment her eyes adjust. The man who’d called on the Prince of Thieves and a god H’aanit didn’t recognize, lays limp now, unconscious in the circle of ash his magic had left behind.   
“Well. That didn’t work as planned. Linde!” H’aanit calls out, drawing more arrows. She doesn’t understand why the voidbeasts haven’t stopped coming, it was like the fire had just drawn more out from the shadows. There were too many now for even her to deal with.   
Linde sprints forward, wrapping her body around the crumpled man. She snarls as H’aanit looses arrows at the nearest voidbeasts, trying to buy a few seconds. She knows what the next step was, and it wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed.   
Taking a deep breath, she releases it, letting her consciousness drift downward. She sees them now like she was from above. More and more specks of void making their way to this particular stretch of road. They wanted this man, for whatever reason. While H’aanit still drew breath, she refused to let them have him.   
Her consciousness still drifts, and her patron’s power begins to rise. Linde lets out a particularly vicious snarl, and H’aanit looses another arrow like she was in a dream. A blink, she sees double, everything slowed to a snail’s pace.   
The static is building above, setting her hair on end. Linde crouches lower over the man; for all the time they’ve been together, she still didn’t like it very much. Drawing a single arrow, H’aanit aims at the sky and looses. It doesn’t come back down.   
Her bow is dropped to the ground, landing with a clatter that generally would make her wince. But she’s reaching already towards the sky with both hands, twisting and grasping something only she could see.   
H’aanit, loved by the Goddess Draefendi, tugs hard at the heavens and lightning answers. It’s explosive, hitting each of the voidbeasts and some of the trees. The thunder comes a millisecond later, leaving her very bones vibrating as H’aanit returns to herself. It takes a few blinks for her sight to return to normal, and a quick glance around shows that the desired result had been achieved.   
She glances over at the man, still limp and unconscious on the ground and sighs. So it was a thief she’d saved. Not that she really approved of the thieving aspect, but apparently this was something she didn’t have a choice in, so she couldn’t exactly complain.   
Removing glass vials from her pack, she kneels down at one of the dead voidbeasts; with steady hands, she extracts the venom and stoppers the vial once more. She repeats the process for the other intact voidbeasts and goes back to retrieve her arrows before she returns to her new charge.   
He had to be brought to Clearbrook. She had no clue how to mix anti-venom. H’aanit could bandage the worst of the wounds and check for the beginnings of demonrot, but with anything outside of that narrow range, she was useless.   
Working quickly, she rinses out the bite wound with what was left in her waterskin and wraps it with bandages. The clothing goes into one of the man’s packs, which she straps to Linde along with her own. She’d have enough to deal with, and Linde was strong enough to carry them for a few hours. With a grunt, H’aanit carefully hoists the man over her shoulder and makes for Clearbrook. 

* * *

  
Therion is vaguely aware of being carried, there’s that part of him that is panicked, that is steadily planning his escape because never again. Never fucking again. But he can’t hold his head above, and he sinks.   
He can feel eyes somewhere, watching him. They’re hungry for something Therion couldn’t begin to understand. He also plain doesn’t want to know, but still, they stare, the gaze becoming more and more intent, and he wants to scream. 

No one had the right to see him. To see through him, not like this, never like this. 

“Demonrot hasn’t set in yet, I’m guessin’ it won’t at this point. The venom is makin’ its way through his system though, don’t know if the anti-venom will do much frankly.” The voice came from far away, echoing in his head, but he couldn’t respond. Therion sank deeper into what he didn’t know, but he sank. The voice triggered something, the feeling that he desperately needs to be remembering something, and all he can smell are apples, the first ones of the season that were always slightly too tart and left his mouth dry.   
Everything warps. 

_Mama had named her for her favorite flower, Hyacin remembers this now. She wanted to laugh, would Mama be proud of her now? Would she be proud of her bloodied swords and knives and daggers and stained hands? Hyacin already knows the answer. She wouldn’t._  
_It’d been so long since she’s thought of her, with her straight spine and perpetual frown; she never had anything good to say about anything. Least of all, anything good to say about Hyacin._  
_But Mama had been kind, in her twisted way. Loving even if she hadn’t shown it. Hyacin knows she wouldn’t have questioned if she’d just come home one day, maybe yesterday, and decided to start all over again. Mama would just look up from her pottery, a raised brow at the blood caked into her nail beds, and tell her to gather more wood for the kiln._  
_Maybe if she’d just left and started over, she’d be able to forget her. Forget her even though her heart still aches because even after all this, Hyacin just wants to see her, even just the back of her as she walks away, black hair flowing down her back like a river of void. Lyla had just. Lyla had been everything Hyacin never knew she yearned for, she yearned so hard she never once questioned the cruelty hiding behind Lyla’s smile._  
_She never once questioned, only killed and maimed and tortured when Lyla told her to. She should have known it all was a lie, but the brush of her lips against hers always quelled any doubts beginning to rise. Even though she knew it was all wrong, everything Lyla told her to do was wrong, she still justified it to herself. Hyacin knew she was a fucking fool._  
_The beginnings of a bitter laugh turn into a sob, torn from her with what little energy she had left. She would die here, and she was still longing for the woman who’d stuck the blade in her._  
_“She used you too, didn’t she?” The voice makes her crack open an eye. He was standing there above her, clutching at his ruined arm. And she hated how there was only pity in those eyes, no anger or rage for what she’d done to him. For what she’d done to his life. Each step she’d been told to take dismantling it little by little._  
_“It’ll take hours for you to bleed out. If you want, I can end it now for you. At least the pain would stop.” He crouches down, and there’s still no anger in him._  
_Hyacin nods, she didn’t deserve the mercy, she didn’t deserve it at all. She wanted it still. He just nods back, and she closes her eyes. The rasp of the blade being pulled free from its scabbard was so loud, but a moment later, she was gone._

Theron wakes slowly, the scene leaving as quickly and suddenly as it’d come. He’s in a bed, there’s a piece of what he can only assume to be straw poking the small of his back. He wants to itch it, but he also knows better than to move before he knew where the fuck he was.   
He tries to remember, the past few days had been a blur. Demons, there’d been demons, right? One had bitten him in his left shoulder, coming from his blind side. He should have seen it coming, he should have compensated more. He should have been paying attention and shouldn’t have been on the road at all. But he’d lost track of time, his wrist aching and itching and mind caught up in the tail ends of dreams he’d rather not have. Then there was the figure, a woman? With the bow and the giant cat. It comes back slowly, but it comes, and he’s still attempting to puzzle it all out when he hears a voice.   
“Finally awake, huh? Must be confused. Demon venom does that to a person.” The voice is warm, a man.   
“How’d you know.” Therion’s voice is rough in his throat. He cracks his eye open slightly and automatically closes it again. Too fucking bright, the light stung.   
“Your breathing changed.” The man replies, too damned cheery. There’s the sound of clanking jars, something heavy being set down on a table. Then the sound of pouring liquid. “Might wanna sit up, got some water if you’re interested.”   
Therion sighs, and opens his eye again. It takes a few blinks to adjust to the light, but he gingerly sits up and takes the glazed earthenware cup from the man. He hates how his fingertips bump against it, that old bitterness rearing its head. The man says nothing though, which Therion probably hates more. He just waits patiently until Therion can take the cup on his own.   
“Name’s Alfyn, apothecary at your service. In case you’re wonderin’ you got brought into Clearbrook a few days ago by a lady named H’aanit with a bite wound to the shoulder and a nasty fever from the demon venom. Had to let it just run through your system since the anti-venom is only really good when it comes to demonrot. Its been eh, three-ish days or so now. The bite needed stitches, it’s healing well, and you’ll have full range of motion back” Alfyn sits on a nearby bench, and Therion tries to not make eye contact, but still, he studies him from the corner of his eye while making a production out of taking small sips of water. Messy hair, dark circles under the eyes. Probably didn’t sleep much the past few days.   
“Fun.” Therion says dryly, Alfyn only laughs.   
“Now, I did have some questions, your wrist there. Nasty allergic reaction, now dunno when you got the bangle, don’t particularly care why either, but you’ll need to keep it away from your skin. But… It’s the real deal, isn’t it?” There’s no judgment in his voice, and Therion hates it.   
Looking down, Therion sees that indeed, the wrist was neatly bandaged, it didn’t hurt or even itch anymore. Last he saw it’d been blistered and red, the rash slowly making its way up his arm and down his wrist.   
“Spelled you mean?” Therion answers. Alfyn nods. “Yup. Sure is.” Lifting his hand up, he turns it in a way that makes the bangle clank. Yes, it was there, yes, it all was real. Yes, he was pretty well fucked.   
“Damn. I thought so, it explains a few things. See, the reaction was a bit more than what’d you’d expect with a normal allergy. But if it’s spelled… Well, some spells aren’t really that nice to have against the skin for very long. Some folk don’t notice, and some are more sensitive than others. I can add something to a salve I’ll mix up for you before you go, you’ll need to keep it clean and bandaged, the salve will also stop the itching, and it should heal up just fine.”   
“Dare I ask how much this will all cost me?” Therion asks, waving around with his free hand. Apothecaries weren’t exactly cheap, and he’s been here a few days already.   
“Oh, that? Nothing, I mean, you can leave some leaves if you want, but it’s not like you were dropped off at my door willingly…?” Alfyn raises an eyebrow, the question obvious enough that it doesn’t really need to be asked.   
Rolling his eye, Therion quickly goes through a list of fake names he could give. But he couldn’t really think of a reason to give a fake that didn’t sound hollow, the idea is abandoned. The man was an idiot, though.   
“Therion. The name’s Therion.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will definitely take a Moment, this one got finished ahead of schedule. Feel free to pester if I take too terribly long though lol
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who commented last chapter!!! I'm really excited for this to unfold!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Therion Is So So So Bored

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up over this chapter, I can see it being distressing for some readers  
> I am writing Therion from the angle of him having ADHD, and him having a Bad Time in the past because of it. So please take caution if something like this hits a little too close to home.  
> Also, Ophilia's bit can also be distressing, so be on the lookout for that as well.

“Maybe.” He whispers the answer to the unsaid question running through his mind, fingers gingerly feeling out the bandaged wound. Maybe, maybe maybe. Maybe it’d been better if he’d just bled out. Cracked plaster, doors that didn’t quite sit correctly in their age. The view hadn’t changed even though some part of Therion hopes it would because good Gods he was bored. Beyond bored, it edged right up on painful and trampled down the other side.

If he wanted to he could probably pry the window open more than the mere two inches the wood would currently allow. But no, he stares blankly at the wall, because standing made him dizzy and he was too stubborn to lay down and got to sleep. Because if he slept he’d be confronted with the fact that his shoulder was healing much too quickly for comfort. He’d also probably be treated to yet another nightmare. Or dream, sometimes they were just dreams but they hurt like nightmares did.

He lays back on the lumpy mattress once more with a huff.

_“Now, I’m guessin’ you’d like to be on your way but I can’t really advise that. You can stay at the inn if you want, I could probably talk ol’ Anise into givin’ you a discount. It’s just probably the best if you stay at least a week. Maybe even two dependin’ on the shoulder. Now-”_

_Alfyn wags a finger at the protest that was beginning to take form. “You probably feel fine now right?” Therion refuses to nod. Alfyn continues anyway. “Demon venom is nasty and doesn’t play by the rules. Pretty sure where it’s concerned there are no rules.” The apothecary shrugs. “Anyways, you stay a week, you’re probably out of the woods and well. If you aren’t you have two apothecaries in shouting distance.”_

Therion wants to scream, or just yell at something because he knows the damned apothecary was, is right but it’s also another week with the bangle and a week stuck in a middle of nowhere village with inns so old that you couldn’t even climb out a window like a respectable thief unless you didn’t mind noise and had time on your hands. Which are two things a thief generally couldn’t afford.

And then he’d encountered the huntress again (H’aanit, her name was H’aanit) in the tavern. Was it yesterday? Or the day before? Days and hours and weeks had always blurred together when he wasn’t mapping out his next mark. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when it turned out that no, he didn’t hallucinate a giant fucking cat. Said cat was apparently a snow leopard (though frankly Therion couldn’t bring himself to care too much about specifics, it was a cat thank you very much) named Linde. There was an intelligence in the cat’s eyes and Therion couldn’t quite make up his mind on just how he felt about that.

He’d been hiding in his room since yesterday, that he knew for sure because he was bored out of his mind. All his daggers were razor sharp, he actually managed to organize his pack- three times thank you very much. The entire reason he was practically held prisoner here was because of the fact that apparently none of these people knew what good manners were. He was a thief for fucks sake! But even he knew that gawking at people was rude and he also got rather tired of some granny trying to shove food down his throat.

He shudders reflexively at the memory of one particularly stubborn lady deciding that he required an entire thirty minute lecture on how it was bad to have your hair in your face, people need to see your eyes sweetheart! Gods, he was going to actually loose it and stab someone the next time someone asked if his hair was naturally that color. Did no one seriously ever teach these people how to mind their own gods damned business or did it all just go out the window (like his sanity) the moment a new shiny toy came to town?

That. That and the apothecary was right, damn him. Therion had been feeling shitty since he woke up, but the just woken up sort of shitty was one he could deal with pretty easily. This was something else entirely. He keeps telling himself its just his head spinning and the dreams that were even worse than usual, which was a feat considering they’d been pretty fucking awful before. Just. Everything was too much and he hurt and he was fucking bored and there was nothing even remotely worth stealing here. People were too poor to carry much in the way of leaves and as a rule he didn’t steal from folk who barely had enough as is.

They really were lucky the land here was so forgiving. That crops grew easily and animals had more than enough to graze on. That the water was clean and plentiful, the weather mild. They were damned fucking lucky because the Clifflands would have chewed every last one of these people up and spit their bones out again.

The floorboards creak outside his room, and his eye narrows. Then, a knock. Therion debates not answering it but he was also so fucking bored and the need to not be bored won out over his good sense. It takes a moment for his head to stop spinning when he stands, but he slowly makes his way over and cracks the door open just enough to see H’aanit on the other side. Her and her oversized cat.

“So thou are planning on hiding then?” She asks, voice dry. He swears there’s the merest suggestion of amusement in her tone, but he might just also be hearing things.

“What’s it to you?”

She actually has the audacity to laugh at that, so it had been amusement.

“I’d like to talk to thee if thou hast the time. About the attack.” She continues, the grin falling from her face just as suddenly as it’d appeared.

Therion scowls, mostly out of reflex if he was being honest.

“Why.”

“Tis not a conversation for idle ears, wouldn’t thou agree?” She raises a brow, and Therion scowls further. Truly a marvel in the art of scowling. Quickly he weighs his options before flinging the door open further, then stalking back to his place on the bed.  
H’aanit catches it gingerly before it can crash into the wall.

“Spit it out then.”  
The door closes with a soft creak.  
“Tell me thief, does thou think it normal for just over two score of the beings you’d call demons to target a single person?”  
“Wait. How much is a score?” Therion asks, confused.

“Twenty. A score is twenty.” H’aanit replies.

“Oh. So over 40 then?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t you have just. You know, said that outright?”

H’aanit fixes him with a glare that could probably split stone if it were so inclined.

“Fine. You tell me, apparently you’re the expert here.”

“Thou knows as well as I that tis not normal.” H’aanit replies, voice hard.

Therion leans back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wishes his stash of apples wasn’t across the room because he sure could use one at this point.

“Well fuck. And your point?”

“They’ve the taste of thou now, I’d practice more care in the future. Or travel with others.” A pointed look, and Therion flushes despite himself. H’aanit continues. “If thou are heading towards the east I’m leaving in a week’s time.”

“Fuck no.” Therion says reflexively.

H’aanit shrugs. “Come or not, the offer is there.” A pause. “Who is Steorra?”

Therion’s stomach drops and suddenly he feels nauseous. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve not heard of her before.”

There’s a long pause. Therion debates heavily on actually answering, while H’aanit waits patiently.

“The Starseer. Now fuck off.” He finally says, like it’s all there was to know about the Lady, like H’aanit could know everything from one word. But he can’t, he just. He can’t answer the question more fully, because he’s afraid, terrified actually. Terrified of hearing the echo of Amma’s voice in his own.

H’aanit just nods, and leaves quietly as she came, which, on account of the squeaky floorboards, wasn’t as quiet as it could have been.

* * *

It takes merely one more day before the boredom becomes too much to handle, that, and he ran out of apples. He slips through the inn like a shadow, somehow evading both squeaky floorboards and the notice of the innkeeper.

Blinking rapidly against the afternoon sun in an attempt to get his eye to adjust he hears a voice.

“Oh, Therion! Surprised to see you out and about buddy, how’s the shoulder doing?” Even though Alfyn’s voice is full of its usual cheer there’s something off about it. And indeed, Alfyn looks distracted, pacing back and forth, hands twisting around the worn handle of an ax. He barely spares a glance for him.

“Fine.” Or well, it was mostly healed and Therion is still having trouble wrapping his head around that since it should be impossible and thinking too hard about it makes his brain hurt. Well, should be unless the apothecary was also a cleric or some shit. Somehow Therion’s under the impression that he’s not.

“I’ll take a look at it later, can’t now though. Guess who gets to go on a date with a snake?” Alfyn smiles, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s an underlying tension to his words, the cheeriness too forced.

“Should I even ask?”

Alfyn sighs. “Anti venom. Zeph, you remember him right? The other apothecary? Anyways his sister got bitten. The venom is nasty and well. If I don’t go and get it she’ll die.”

Therion rolls this information around in his head for a few seconds.  
“How old is she?” He asks, taking a long hard look at the other man.  
“Eight.”

“Well fuck.” A pause. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Where’s the damned snake?” Therion doesn’t understand why he says this, truly he doesn’t. But he’s reaching for one of his longer daggers from where it’s strapped underneath his shawl all the same.

“Wait, you’ll come with me? What about your shoulder?” Alfyn’s face is mirrored with the shock that Therion now feels coursing through his veins. But there’s something else, a certain relief in his expression that makes Therion even more antsy. He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? He feels like a puppet, like something is pulling him to do this and he can’t exactly place a finger on it but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing you could deny.

“What does it look like, medicine man?” Therion gestures to the blade in his hand. “Don’t need to two arms to fight you know. Where’s the damned snake?”

* * *

Alfyn shivers internally, the nickname settling oddly on his skin. Not in a bad way mind you! It was just. Odd. He steals a glance at the man walking beside him, eye clearer and steps more sure after a few days rest. Therion’s expression is hard, cold, but his eye burns with a fire that Alfyn can’t quite begin to describe. It didn’t seem quite natural, but staring outright was bound to attract his attention. Also, it was rude.

Watching Therion fight with his dagger was something else entirely, if you didn’t know better you wouldn’t even realize he was blind in one eye. Or missing an eye entirely. He moved with a speed and grace that shouldn’t really be possible, especially considering the state he’d been a week prior.

Alfyn is still mad at himself for looking, it wasn’t like he had been given a choice but it felt… wrong. It was knowledge that Therion obviously went through lengths to hide and Alfyn couldn’t take the knowing back. He clutched things tightly against his chest, Alfyn noticed it the moment he’d woken up in the spare cot. He guesses you had to when you ended up with as many scars as Therion. Survival, probably. It was the reason he couldn’t judge him for the bangle, he’s aware of the fact that not everywhere is like Clearbrook.

It’d been out of his hands though, he’d been thrashing about something fierce while he’d been unconscious, it would have been impossible not to notice the deep gash and the socket where an eye used to be.

And when the fighting is over, somehow Alfyn’s not surprised to find him gone when he turns around from collecting the venom.

* * *

_“Why’d you help the brat?” He asks, Therion can practically taste the sneer. “What the fuck did you get from that Therion? Ain’t no one payin’ you leaves, ain’t nothing that’ll do for you.”_

_Shut up, Therion wants to scream. Shut up shut up shut up but he can’t because he knows this is a dream and Gods he hates sleeping now because every time he closes his eyes it feels like it’s just another nightmare. He peers into the darkened woods, expecting to see that familiar flash of red hair, the face he knows by heart. But there’s nothing. Just the disembodied voice continuing it’s mocking._

_“Why’d you help her, help him then?”_

_I don’t know. No but he does know he knows so well it’s Amma’s kind face and her gentle fingers on his cheeks and her whispers in his ear._

_“Oh really, you don’t know? You never fucking know anything do you? Never were the smartest tea leaf now. So damned stupid and lazy and the only reason you haven’t been offed yet was ‘cuz of me and you fucking know it Therion. And even then you were too fuckin’ stupid to die when you were supposed to. Couldn’t even do that right.”_

_Shut up! He spins, trying to pinpoint where the voice is coming from but then there’s just the laughter he’s grown to hate so much._

_“Oh really now Therion? Hit a nerve there I see. Ya realize they’re gonna realize you’re broken if ya stick around right? You’re a sentimental idiot, you’ve already gotten attached. They’re just gonna see you’re a pathetic no good piece of shit who can’t act normal if you tried. Too needy, too desperate. You’re just a failure Therion, you should have died when you had the chance.”_   
_“SHUT UP!” He finally screams, and he knows this is a dream but he hates how he knows he’s right. He’s always been right and Therion hates how some small part of him misses him still because for at least a brief moment it felt like he belonged somewhere but no. The voice fades, as does the laughter, echoing, echoing._

_He’s left alone in the dark woods, only the suggestion of trees. He looks up, he can’t see the stars. There’s only darkness. A woman’s voice whispers in his ear._

_“You’re not the normal sort of thief, are you?” He swears he should recognize it from somewhere, but it slips through his fingers like sand._

_“Oh child, I’m sorry.” Another voice whispers. So soft, so sad. And he looks up again, into the darkness. Only this time stars are winking into existence, one and another and another. It was one of those nights Amma always said was blessed by the Lady, both moons hiding and the stars so bright. He hears the roar of the sea, the taste of salt on his tongue. As his gaze turns downward once more he finds the woods gone, instead a darkened corner and a dirty city street._

_“It’ll be very hard and there’s naught I can do to help you.” The voice continues. Bells start tolling loudly and the scent of incense masking the death stings his nostrils. And he knows what comes next, what came next deep in his gut.The panic surging, he knows this is a dream, it’s a dream-_

He wakes up with a start on the floor, having rolled off the bed in his sleep. It seems like it takes forever for his heart to slow, for the shaking to stop. To convince himself that this is here and not there and there is so far away and no he’s not a child anymore.

As he drags himself from the worn floorboards he glances out the window. Dawn wasn’t far off. There’s a brief thought that maybe the nightmares would stop if he wasn’t alone. He’s so tired of them coming each night, haunting his dreams. Ever since he left Bolderfall, it’s been nightmare after nightmare, dream after dream.

It’s not like it’d be hard to ditch them if he had to.

* * *

Alfyn can’t help but glance back, towards the direction of the inn.

“Do you think he’ll come?” He asks, H’aanit just follows his line of sight and shrugs

They wait another five minutes, it feels like an eternity. H’aanit eventually shakes her head, and starts down the road. Alfyn sighs and follows after her. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s so disappointed, but he is.

They make it half a mile down the road before H’aanit catches the scuffing of soft boots against the stone. She stops and glances back, which has Alfyn in turn do the same.

The thief looks tired, and as soon as he notes the fact that the two other travelers had noticed his approach he slows. Sauntering up between the two he refuses to make eye contact. It reminds Alfyn of a particularly stubborn cat that the baker had, who was notorious for stealing fish and swatting at everything and everyone but was too good of a mouser to consider letting loose.

“So. Where to?” Therion asks after a while.

“Sunshade first.” Alfyn replies, Therion pauses, and looks both of the other travelers over.

“Have either of you been there before? Or like, you know. Actually traveled through a desert before?” Therion asks, voice even sharper than usual.

“No.” H’aanit replies, “Though my master had spoken of it much.”

Alfyn shakes his head.  
“And I’m guessing those are the clothes you have?” Therion continues, even sharper this time, if that was possible.

The silence speaks volumes.  
“Dear Aeber kill me now.” Therion says to no one in particular, rolling his eye. Alfyn can’t quite help the grin that slides onto his face.

* * *

They stop for the night at a wayrest, an elegant structure in a grove of trees. H’aanit walks to border, apparently making sure the magic was still holding up. Therion hadn’t known you should do that. He doesn’t bother really helping set anything up, instead just dumping his shit on the ground and spreading out his bedroll to sprawl out. Looking up through the slatted ceiling (why did they bother making a structure to just put holes in the roof anyways? It must be a more of a symbolic thing?) at the slowly darkening sky he can almost pretend he’s here alone, that he wasn’t right.

“Hey, H’aanit, Therion, do either of you have flint? I forgot to pack some.” Alfyn asks. Therion groans and sits up. Staring at the pile of wood in the fire pit he once more groans for good measure and crawls over, this wasn’t quite worth actually standing for.

Breathing deeply he snaps, once to prepare himself, and then again. The flame is just on this side of explosive, at least he doesn’t scorch anything this time. A finger sets the wood on fire, he probably could have done without the whole touching thing but with the last incident in the cave he wasn’t quite trusting his magic. It never was the easiest thing to control, but it’d been even more unpredictable than usual of late and he’d rather not have others knowing that particular tidbit.

He makes the mistake of letting his eye rest on Alfyn, who just looks at him in wonder.

“You can use fire magic?”

“What does it look like medicine man?” Therion rolls his eye, and shuffles back to his bedroll. “Don’t get used to it.”

* * *

Therion is fairly sure he’s going insane, well. Who wouldn’t in his situation? He’d woken from a dreamless sleep, last night and the night before even. He’s starting to think that the relief he’d felt might have been premature.

His eye is fixed firmly on the road ahead, the figure of Alfyn chatting with H’aanit. But every time he blinks he catches a glimpse of something else, somewhere else. The road isn’t worn down, the stones still newly laid and clean. And he can see with both eyes. But then it fades, and he’s back to his one eye, wagon ruts worn deep and his two traveling companions. And an ache, an old and familiar one and the bitterness at what he had lost. And another emotion, one he didn’t have the words for but decided he hated worms its way in and-

And then there’s suddenly a large furry body wrapping itself around his legs, and he falls flat on his ass.

“Hey-” Alfyn glances back and snickers. “You okay back there Therion?” He barely manages to get the words out before collapsing into laughter, laughter that H’aanit joins in on within a glance at the situation. No wonder, considering it’s the fifth time in a day and a half that the fucking snow leopard managed to trip him and frankly? He’s fucking done with it all.

“I do say she’s taken a liking to thee.” H’aanit manages. Therion scowls. This all, everything that’s been happening for the past month but especially this in particular feels like some great joke at his expense and he doesn’t like it.

“More like taking a liking to ensuring my ass is just one giant bruise. Can’t you know, ask her to fucking stop tripping me or something?” Therion bites out, dragging himself to his feet and dusting off his pants.

Alfyn laughs even harder at that, practically doubled over.

“I could probably whip up a salve if its that bad you know.” He gasps out, before collapsing in even more laughter. H’aanit shoots him a look, a single brow raised.

“I do believe thou wouldn’t have such a problem if thou would simply watch the road, no?” She asks, a slow smirk forming.

Therion’s scowl deepens. And then he looks up at the sky, making a big of a show of it as possible. Alfyn, anticipating what’s coming next manages to calm himself just enough to watch.

“Oh dear Lady please deliver me from a leopard who’s apparently bound and determined to make sure I have more bruise than ass. I’d ask Aeber but he’d laugh and make her do it more.” He clasps his hands, ending the sarcastic not-quite-a-prayer. Maybe its just the dreams that have been plaguing him but he can’t quite force the Lady’s name out. Not like this. Alfyn’s howling in the background and he’d really like to watch, but Therion’s mind drifts elsewhere.

“The Lady knows more than there are stars in the sky Teri-” A shake of the head banishes the echo of her voice.

And Alfyn’s still howling. Therion takes the moment to give his appreciative audience a mocking bow.

“Yeah yeah I get it. You find this entire situation comical and I’m hilarious. Now, medicine man, thought we had places to be? Who’s holding up who now?”  
Alfyn straightens up quickly, but the grin doesn’t quite disappear, nor does the mirth bubbling beneath the surface. H’aanit rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

And Therion just scowls, and ponders again on how he got into this entire situation in the first place. Ah yes, the quest not to dream, well that and the fucking bangle. At least the former was working (for now) and the damned apothecary was half decent with an ax. Well more than half decent but Therion would rather die than admit as much.

* * *

_Ophilia doesn’t know what tipped her off to something being horribly, horribly wrong first; was it the smoke, or the screaming? She doesn’t know but all she can see is the snow stained horribly horribly red, the snow she’d been playing in just a few hours before. Everything is on fire, her neighbor’s houses, the barns. Her house. The smoke is choking her lungs, but still, the screaming continues._

_And she runs, she runs as fast as short skinny legs will take her._

_“Hey, there’s another one over here!” A man calls out, and Ophilia can’t quite make out the rest of what they’re saying as the panic surges through her. She was under the impression that she couldn’t run faster, but here she is, practically flying towards the river, towards the forest beyond. She knows the forest, or at least some of the forest. She can climb trees pretty okay, and she thinks she might be able to hide, but she’s just trying to get away. Away from the blood and the smoke and the screaming and the scary people who came with swords and magic and fire._

_Heart beating so loudly she’s afraid it might burst, all Ophilia hears now is the roaring in her ears, and she stops short. The bridge was out, or rather, it was on fire, she didn’t know stone could be set on fire but it’s definitely burning._

_Gazing out at the ice, she shifts nervously from one foot to the other. It looks solid enough, she’s tiny. She knows she’s tiny, the other kids always teased her for it like they teased her for not having a papa. She might be able to get across okay because she needed to get across to the woods she needed to._

_Don’t go on the ice without asking, Ophilia, it’s very dangerous Momma kept telling her. But she thinks the dangerous thing is the people burning and spilling blood like hot water on the snow and she doesn’t want to think of what happened. No, she doesn’t want to think of Momma’s head rolling in the snow and the expression in her glassy eyes and the way her mouth was twisted and her body so far behind and the man’s face twisted in a sick grin and how he was reaching for her and she doesn’t want to think about it she doesn’t want to think about it she doesn’t want to think about it she doesn’t want-_

_Slowly, so slowly, she takes a tentative step onto the ice, then another. There’s loud crunching footsteps behind her, and she goes faster, slipping and falling on her bottom. But the footsteps are still coming, and she scuttles carefully forward on her hands and knees (her fingers are burning from the cold she lost her gloves earlier Momma was going to be so upset with her they couldn’t afford another pair) she’s trying to not pay attention to the voices, looking only ahead. Why was the river so wide? She’s also trying to not pay attention to the panic raging in her because if she did she’d start crying._

_And then, a crack. One crack, and then another, and another. Ophilia looks down just as the ice she’s crawling on collapses into the fast moving water below._

_She screams, a shrill and terrified scream that’s swiftly stolen away by icy water invading her lungs._

_Ophilia can see the ice above her, through the water and she reaches. She reaches to try to push a way through. To get back to where she could breathe because she can’t breathe she can’t breathe but her hands are too cold, and she can’t breathe and her lungs are burning and everything’s fading._

_She reaches up from under the ice, one last time before her eyes force themselves shut, and Ophilia hears a voice. It begins faint, but then its loud and her ears are ringing._

_“You’re safe now.” And then there was only light._

* * *

Ophilia Clement wakes choking on a scream, cheeks wet with tears, the echo of a voice following her to waking.

_“Its time my daughter. It’s time.”_

Her feet find their way from under the covers to the stone floor, and she doesn’t quite realize what she’s doing until her bags are hastily packed, until Lianna’s waking up, utterly confused by the sight before her.

“Phili? What are you doing? Its the middle of the night.” She asks, groggy and rubbing at her eyes.

“I…” Ophilia looks down. “I don’t know.” Suddenly an understanding jolts through her and she turns to face her sister. “I think I need to do the Kindling. Me, instead of you. I know it’s your turn this year but I think I have to do it I’m sorry Lianna-”  
Lianna rises from her bed and hugs her. It’s only then that the tears start flowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, I'm not exactly happy with this but figured if I didn't post it now it wouldn't get posted and I have the next chapter outlined. 2020 was a shitshow for me, started with a good friend passing away and ended with my mom passing unexpectedly, so needless to say my brain hasn't been the most cooperative. Thank you so so much to everyone reading, and commenting. I appreciate you so so much  
> Also I fucking Hate Hate Hate how H'aanit talks I give up


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